Works

We tightened stirrup; buckled rein;
Looked to our saddle-girths again;
Shook hands all round; then mounted.
The gate swung wide: we said, "Good-bye."
No time for talk had Bell and I....

O even-handed Nature! we confess
This life that men so honor, love, and bless
Has filled thine olden measure. Not the less.

We count the precious seasons that remain;...

Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies now
No more yet! - But they is, I bet! 'Cause ef
They wuzn't Fairies, nen I' like to know
Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell...

He stood before the sons of Heth,
And bowed his sorrowing head;
"I've come," he said, "to buy a place
Where I may lay my dead.

"I am a stranger in your land,
My home has lost its light;...

Now the last wreath of snow
That melts, in mist exhales
White aspiration, and our deep-voiced gales
In chorus chant the measured march of spring,
Whom griefs of life and death
Are burdening!...

The blue sky arches wide
From hill to hill;
The little grasses stand
Upright and still.

Only these stones to tell
The deadly strife,
The all-important schemes,
The greed for life.
...

Sweet Insect! that on two small wings doth fly,
And, flying, carry on those wings yourself;
Methinks I see you, looking from your eye,
As tho' you thought the world a wicked elf....

When Burns did make triumphant entry
'Mong Edina's famous gentry,
A discussion did there arise
Among those solons learned and wise,
About some lines by a new poet.
The author's name none did know it,...

But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,...

Tune - "The winter of life."



I.

But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day;
Thro' gentle showers and laughing flowers,
In double pride were gay:...

But outer Space,
At least this far,
For all the fuss
Of the populace
Stays more popular
Than populous

All upstarts, insolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.

A butterfly, but born one morning,
Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning.
His wings of azure, jet, and gold,...

But what's the use of writing 'bush',
Though editors demand it,
For city folk, and farming folk,
Can never understand it.
They're blind to what the bushman sees
The best with eyes shut tightest,...

But who shall see the glorious day
When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of this rebuke shall lie;[2]...

She breath'd deep,
And stepped from out life's stream
Upon the shore of sleep;
And parted from the earthly noise,
Leaving her world of toys,
To dwell a little in a dell of dream.
...

I.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I listened to a lover's sang,...

By all love's soft, yet mighty powers,
It is a thing unfit,
That men should fuck in time of flowers,
Or when the smock's beshit.

Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind,
And all my joys restore;...

Now overhead,
Where the rivulet loiters and stops,
The bittersweet hangs from the tops
Of the alders and cherries
Its bunches of beautiful berries,
Orange and red.

And the snowbirds flee,...

By broad Potomac's shore--again, old tongue!
(Still uttering--still ejaculating--canst never cease this babble?)
Again, old heart so gay--again to you, your sense, the full flush spring returning;...

Why go the east road now? . . .
That way a youth went on a morrow
After mirth, and he brought back sorrow
Painted upon his brow
Why go the east road now?

Why go the north road now?...